


The Bet

by Quillinky



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Demon Days, Gen, Phase 2, just a day in the life of a cartoon band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 18:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19257199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillinky/pseuds/Quillinky
Summary: “Did you ever get your end of  the bargain then, Muds? With your buddy?”“Oh, right. That.” Murdoc grumbled.  “Did I never say?” [Phase 2]





	The Bet

The sun was already starting to creep above the horizon by the time Murdoc came roaring through the rusted gates of his home in the Pontiac, speeding up the hilltop road that spiralled towards Kong Studios. He slowed to a slightly steadier pace when rounding on the sharp bend that would lead him down to the underground garage, but hit the brakes when he found his way obstructed by a pack of the undead roaming by the entrance, more than likely shuffling back to whichever hole they had emerged from to try and evade the inevitable sunrise.

Predictably, the rumble of the engine caught the attention of the soulless creatures, provoking them to change course and trundle towards the car instead, snarling and dragging their broken bodies across the ground. Murdoc reacted accordingly and put his foot down on the accelerator as he steered forward, mowing down any of them that dared get in his way, and the zombies exploded into bits of rotten flesh and bone on impact.

As the entrance of the car park drew nearer, he silently thanked Satan below that he had invested some of the cash flow from the first album on a ‘gold-standard’ brand, vehicle-sensor activated motorised door as it opened for him, and promptly shut again once he had skidded to a halt in the safety of the car park, swiftly cutting off any stragglers that may have attempted to follow him through.

Turning off the engine, Murdoc sifted through the glove box for his spare packet of Lucky Lungs and leaned back into the drivers seat as he lit up a cigarette and inhaled a long drag, feeling the initial nicotine hit release what tension he had from his body. He sat for a moment, wallowing in the post-party blues from the wild, star-studded bashes he had invited himself to whilst he was out and about, and in particular, the exploits he had engaged in whilst he was there.

He tentatively brushed his fingers across his chest, and he winced at the tenderness of his skin, feeling the heat radiate from underneath the thin cotton of his vest. Out of all the stupid shit he’d done in his life, Murdoc thought, this one was definitely up there.

He exited the car to assess the worst of the damage he had inflicted upon it whilst making his entrance.

A rather large dent on the bonnet, he observed, despondently, that he’d have to knock back into place at some point, after one of the buggers slammed onto it. But apart from that, and the fact that half of the car was coated in tarry, black blood, it was in remarkably good nick.

He walked away, fag hanging loose from his lips, and made a mental note-to-self that he would try and coerce 2D into cleaning up the gruesome mess for him, because he sure as hell wasn’t lowering himself to that kind of menial task.

 

*****

 

He wasn’t expecting to see anyone, let alone Russel, up this this time of the morning. But then again, Murdoc himself never usually vacated his Winnebago anytime before noon without good reason, so how would he know?

He saw the hulking frame of his drummer silhouetted against the white walls of the darkened kitchen as soon as he walked in, sat at the table hunched over a steaming mug. They made eye contact, and Murdoc, slightly startled by his band mate’s presence, grabbed the edge of his cape and clutched it to his chest. “What are you lurking in the dark for??” He snapped. “I know our electric bills are ridiculously expensive, but I'm not gonna begrudge you putting a light on, Russ.”

“I’ve only just come down from my room, actually. I needed coffee.” Russel turned his head to stare out of the window, his white eyes shining in the dawn that was breaking out over the colossal mound of trash situated next to the studios. “I didn‘t sleep very well. Thought I might come down and watch the sunrise, seeing as I was up anyway.”

Murdoc noted a weary tone in his voice. He remained in the doorway, and said, “Those dancing, pink elephants been making nightly visits again? I did tell you to keep on top of your meds or they‘ll keep coming back.”

“No, nothing like that. Not lately.“ Russel mumbled. “It’s those damn zombies, man, scratching at the front door every night this past week. I swear they‘re trying to claw their way in.” He looked seriously at Murdoc.“I think it’s getting worse. The hordes are getting bigger, and more brazen; I’m sure they never used to travel this up far up to the house before. Not whilst we‘ve occupied Kong, at least.”

Murdoc’s thoughts crossed to his Pontiac abandoned in the car park, splattered with blood, guts and all sorts of decomposing matter, after taking down a number of the blighters just outside of the premises. “Well, it has been a while since we’ve had a good cull.” He mused. “I wouldn’t stress too much about it. I’ll get Noodle to dig out the flamethrowers and the hazmats at some point and we’ll see if we can, like, sort it.” He added. 

Russel nodded, affirmatively.

“I think that’d be good idea.” He paused. “Maybe you could rope your new friends into helping out, as well. Better in numbers, right?”

“What, the Mexicans?” Murdoc asked. He thought ‘friends’ was a strong word for a couple of tag-alongs who were presently the bane of his existence. “No.” He replied curtly. “They’d be a bigger liability than 2D, honestly.” 

The two ex-cons were so superstitious that they could barely look at Cortez without flinching as it was, so he could probably hazard a guess at how they’d respond to facing real-life, fleshing-eating zombies. They’d dabbled in the odd bit of black magic in prison, sure, but Kong possessed a whole other level of supernatural hideousness that he didn’t think they’d be able to hack. 

Annoyingly, Murdoc was having a hard time of trying to wipe his hands clean of the greasy pair - they’d been floating aimlessly around the vast expanse of the building ever since he had fulfilled his hastily-made promises about them appearing on the new album, as a form of compensation for helping him bust out of jail. He had been generous enough to allow them to go nuts and play their shoddy guitars all over one of his - well, Noodle‘s - songs, and he contented himself believing that he was no longer indebted to them, hoping that that they’d pack up their gear and leave. Ideally as far away from Murdoc as possible. But they didn’t - instead, they loitered, reluctant to leave. They must have also gotten wind of the commercial success of the album, because they soon started harping on to Murdoc about ‘their money’, as well. ‘They’re like a couple of turds you just can’t flush’, he would often tell Russel, and he told him again now.

“You know, I was very unsure about them at first, given their association with you,” Russel said. “But they’re actually not too bad to have around, when they‘re doing something constructive. They do the maintenance jobs no one else wants to do, they clean up after themselves , they’ll cook occasionally-” 

“Urrgh, of course, how could I forget. ‘Fajita Fridays’ - that’s why I always made sure I was down the pub those nights. I swear, the whole house would stink of some fat Mexican’s dingy skivvies for days afterwards.“ Murdoc grimaced, clearly recalling his incarceration in Tijuana and the dodgy prison diet he was forced to consume. “Almost made me throw up. I’m telling you, you couldn’t pay me to eat another tortilla. Ever.”

“-And they’ve been nothing but polite and courteous.” Russel continued, completely ignoring Murdoc’s interruption. “Which is more than I can say about you.”

“Courteous to you maybe.” Murdoc sneered. “They’re probably scared you‘ll eat them, the humongous size that you are.” 

Russel pursed his lips - his weight was a sore point for him that Murdoc would frequently, and knowingly, poke fun at - but didn’t give him the satisfaction of retorting back, only looking disapprovingly at him. Murdoc didn’t care; he was knackered, his entire body felt sore and stiff, and he felt a headache coming on. Massaging his temple, he ambled over to the kitchen drawers where he began untidily rummaging through all the useless, household junk they had stored away - bills, local takeout flyers, spare batteries, penknives, all manner of crap - until he finally found what he’d been searching for. He pulled out a half-full pack of generic, store-brand painkillers, which he presumed were kept in the drawer for safe-keeping, in case Noodle or Russel suffered any aches or pains - 2D had his own prescribed supply - or for times like Murdoc was experiencing now. He swallowed two of the tablets, dry. 

“You look like pure shit, man.” Russel’s voice perked up from behind him. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you for like two weeks. I wouldn‘t normally care, but we‘ve had to push back the plans for ‘DARE‘ because you decided to go and do a disappearing act. You arranged a band meeting about the video, remember?”

“Did I?” Murdoc did had a vague recollection of texting each of his band mates about instigating _something_ , now that he was reminded of it, but nothing more. He wondered if he had been half-cooked at the time. “When for?”

“Last week.” Russel replied, flatly.

Murdoc turned to face him and leaned himself against the worktop counter, maintaining a solid grip on the cape he had pulled around himself. “Oh. Well, I forgot about all of that. I trust you all still had the meeting. Did I miss anything?” 

Out of nowhere, Murdoc felt a particularly unpleasant spasm course across his chest, which made him clench his teeth, as well as his hands, and he tugged tightly at his cape. He suppressed a cringe until the feeling passed.

“Yes, we had it, but we didn’t make any concrete plans as our self-proclaimed band leader couldn’t be bothered to show up and agree on any final decisions.” Russel folded his massive arms, frustration etched into all of his features.

“As you bloody well should. Listen, I can’t be expected to remember every single little thing, Russ. I‘m an very busy man.” Murdoc replied, growing slightly miffed at all the indignation his band mate was throwing his way. “I make a lot of plans, with a lot of important people and unfortunately there’s only so much of me to go around. It just so happened that I had some, uh, pressing engagements to attend to elsewhere that day.”

Russel peered at him, studying him. Murdoc grew more and more self-conscious with every passing minute, and he shifted under his gaze. “What?”

“You. You’re acting… weird.”

“Am I?” Murdoc bit his lip, and his hand squeezed tighter still around the clump of fabric gathered in his fist. Russel noted that it looked like he had something to say, but he was holding back from sharing. A strange silence fell between them, and both waited for the other to speak up first. Russel glanced at Murdoc’s long fingernails digging deeper into the velvet of his cloak, and remarked to himself that, actually, he had kept a conspicuously firm hold on it since he had entered the kitchen.

Russel had to ask. 

“Are you hiding something behind your cape? ” He asked, with narrowed eyes.

Murdoc hesitated, and a smirk started to form at the edge of his lips. “Yes. But I wasn’t intending on showing anyone, really. Especially didn‘t think you’d be sitting about in here, but I guess I‘ve been backed into a corner now. I wanted to have an ogle and a little play with them first.”

He was skirting around the question, and Russel did not like it. “Muds, I swear to God-”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist; it’s nothing dangerous.” Murdoc was in two minds about whether to show him or not, but he reasoned it was probably too late now - not with Russel being so damn nosy. He’d brought this on himself, frankly. “Just check these out.” 

Murdoc whipped back the cape from his chest, letting it swing over behind his neck. Russel came face-to-face with a sight he thought he would never see in his life, and one he never, ever wanted to see again. He was left momentarily speechless, his mouth dropping open in horrified shock. There stood Murdoc before him, his hands resting on his hips, fully accentuating a pair of shapely bosoms in a white wifebeater vest. Some black braces were slung over his shoulders which curved around the outer edges of the assets - this only seemed to draw more attention them. As if they needed anymore attention. If Russel had been drinking his coffee at that moment in time, he was sure he would have choked on it. 

“You don’t have to look so mortified, Russ. They’re not gonna jump off and bite you.” Murdoc nonchalantly said, as if he were making a statement about the weather, or discussing something as equally mundane. Definitely not at all like he had underwent a boob job and was now displaying them for his drummer.

A burst of disbelieving laughter escaped Russel. “This is a joke, right? Some sort of prank?” He asked, incredulously. But Murdoc wasn‘t laughing, and the punch line he was hoping for never came. 

“What does it look like I’ve done? I had a boob job.” Murdoc said, his words as clear as the daylight sky that was now lighting up the room through the uncovered windows; it appeared that it was going to be an uncharacteristically sunny day at Kong Studios.

Russel picked up his now luke-warm coffee and downed it in one, big gulp, processing the jumble of thoughts and questions that were spinning through mind. “No way. I can’t believe even you would do something as absurd as _that_. Invasive surgery. _Really?_ ” He responded, pointing at the offending articles, trying to look anywhere else but the growths on Murdoc’s chest. 

He did briefly wonder whether he was maybe still in bed, having managed to lull himself to sleep, and was in fact in some sort of disturbing dream that he would soon wake from. But nope, there they were, nudging into the corners of his vision and bringing him back down to reality. “Seriously, that’s nasty, man. _Why_?” He asked despairingly.

“I don’t need to justify my actions to you.” Murdoc said, but he continued speaking regardless. “But if you must know, I went out to sort some business and I… uh. Well, in short, I ended up at a party with the Pussycat Dolls. They wouldn’t leave me alone, kept plying me with free drinks. Lovely, accommodating young ladies, they were. Very long legs. Anyway, I digress,” Murdoc waved his hand, the finer aspects of his encounter with the girls left unspoken. 

“I saw one of my music-biz mates there. We‘d been pissing about all night; popping some pills, egging each other on to do stupid shit, you know, causing arguments and all that rubbish. But then it just escalated. He bet me - said he’d give me a briefcase of cash, his Rolls Royce _and_ a go on his missus if I did it. We were both so out of it, I just thought, fuck it, why not! The cash was sitting in the bank, and I knew of an established plastic surgeon in Essex that would perform, um, unconventional procedures. For the right price, of course. I even bunged him a few extra thousand on the agreement that he take them out tomorrow and he keeps schtum about this to the papers.” 

Murdoc felt the painkillers he had taken earlier kick in and his headache begin to alleviate. Even the throb in his muscles was starting to dwindle to just a niggling, inconvenient ache. “You can’t go back on a bet like that, Russ. The guy’s a mogul, proper minted, and those were some disgustingly tempting stakes he waved in front of me. Besides, he didn’t think I would do it, kept bleating that I didn’t have the balls. Well, I’ve fucking shown him.”

Russel just stared at him with tired eyes. “Yes, you have.” He said, apathetically. 

On any other given day, Murdoc’s ridiculous stories would wash over Russel. Sometimes he would catch snatches of the more shameless details if he were paying attention, and his usual reaction would be to shake his head, call him an idiot, and then that was that. He could never really tell if any of the tales he recounted ever actually happened or not - Russel suspected they were highly exaggerated versions of the truth, but he wouldn’t put anything past Murdoc - but this one… this one had with very physical repercussions, and they were poking in his general direction.

Russel suddenly felt drained, and decided that this was all a bit too much for him to take in first thing in the morning. “You know, I think I’m going to go back to bed.”

Murdoc shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Russel stood and placed his empty coffee mug on top of a pile of other dirty dishes that had been dumped into the sink, whilst Murdoc sauntered over to the fridge and examined the contents inside. He grabbed a beer from the bottom shelf, and after a few seconds of consideration, he also picked up a can of squirty cream and shook it by his ear to see if there were anything left in it - there was, but only fractionally. With both hands full, he kicked the fridge shut.

They both made eye contact again as they headed towards the kitchen door. Russel‘s gaze dropped to Murdoc’s chest, and he groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “Seriously though, do you do this on purpose? Do you actively set out to be see how far to the extreme you’ll go? The image of you with… them. That’s going to be seared into my memory for a very long time.” He said, sighing.

“You’ll get over it.” Murdoc said, unsympathetically. “Is this yours?” He raised the squirty cream in the air and gave it a jig. 

“Um… yes?” Russel said, his eyebrow raised.

“Figured as much. I’m nicking it. Only I… well.” Murdoc licked his chapped lips, and smirked. “I planned on acquainting myself with my new purchases. You think I paid a small fortune for them just hang there? No baby, I’ve only got them for the day so I might as well make use of them.”

He laughed - a raspy, guttural laugh that only Murdoc could possess - at Russel’s aghast expression, turned his back on him, and left.

 

*****

 

Murdoc made himself scarce for the rest of the day, only really leaving the murky comforts of his Winnebago when he ran out of squirty cream, and to let Cortez spread his wings and peck at the bloody carcasses that he had run over earlier that morning. He didn’t really linger for too long outside himself; the foul stench of putrefied meat that had been sat in the sun for too long wafted heavily through the air and, whilst it was an enticing invitation for dozens of swarming flies, it was enough to make his stomach turn. 

Flicking the remnants of his finished cigarette to the floor, he left his feathered friend to his feast and headed back into the shade of the car park. He spied 2D surfacing from his room as he approached the Winnie, his blue hair spiking up at awkward angles, his black eyes rimmed with sleep. He was heading towards the door to the adjoining main building when Murdoc gruffly called to him. 

“Oi, Dents! Just the person I wanted to see.”

2D faltered at the sound of Murdoc’s call, his hand loosely grasping the door knob. He didn’t respond straight away, as he was too busy chiding himself for being so lost in his own head that he hadn’t even noticed that Murdoc had now returned from wherever it was he had been, and that there was definitely no chance he’d be able to tiptoe away without being detected now. “What do you want, Murdoc?” He croaked. 

“What are you doing?” Murdoc enquired.

2D tried to recall what he planned for the day, his thoughts sluggishly rolling around his head. “Urm, well, I was gonna get a cuppa tea and some toast actually. I‘ve only just woken up ‘cos I was up playing Pong until about 2am, see. And now I‘m getting pretty hungr-”

“Terrific, well, I have a special task for you.” Murdoc interrupted. “Whilst you’re up there, grab a bucket of water and sponge from the cupboard and bring it down with you. You might as well bring me a cuppa down too, if you’re making one.”

“Wha‘? Why?” 2D questioned, a whine emanating from the back of his throat. He tilted his head to the side, and spotted the front end of the Pontiac poking out from behind the Winnebago, covered in dried black, chunky blood. And it clicked.

“You want me to clean it, don‘t you?” He asked, quietly. He knew the answer to his question already, though. “But… but what if I‘ve got stuff to do today? Yeah, I think I might be busy, ya know!” He added, a tad louder, with a smidgen of conviction in his voice.

2D didn’t have any specific plans - in fact he intended on just bumming around his room for the rest of the day, enjoying a rare free day from promotional, band duties - but that wasn’t the point. Since returning from gallivanting around Eastbourne with his newly-restored self-confidence, he was doing his best to show Murdoc that he wasn’t going to let him push him around anymore.

Well, not as much as he did before, anyway.

“Doing what? Cocking about playing video games?” Murdoc remarked. “Change your plans. I need this car sparkling by tomorrow.” He spoke calmly, but there was an undertone to his voice which suggested that 2D wasn’t going to be given the option of getting out of this task.

2D closed his eyes and exhaled hard through his nose, resigning himself to the fate his bassist had laid out for him that afternoon. He ran a hand through his bedhead hair, grumbling, and disappeared through the door to the main hallway.

Pleased with himself, Murdoc happily checked off the muckier job on his mental to-do list - having now delegated it to 2D - and decided that it would probably make sense if he did make a go of repairing the dent in his car, seeing as he would be driving it to the plastic surgeon’s the next day to undo the boob job. But first, he needed to change into more suitable attire - a leopard print dressing gown and slippers wasn’t exactly working clothing, and it was absolute _murder_ getting oil and car grime out of silk. He also figured that he could monitor 2D whilst he was at it, ensuring he wasn’t just doing a half-arsed job of cleaning up his car.

He threw on one of his standard grey shirts and a pair of old jeans with questionable stains, and emerged from the Winniebago some time later when he saw 2D wandering through the door with a filled bucket of water - the arm of the bucket resting in the indent of his arm - and two mugs of strong tea in each hand. 

“Took you long enough.” Murdoc said.

“I was eating my toast.“ 2D said. “Then I saw Russel on my way through, we started talking, and he said that you…” Murdoc picked up an old rubber mallet that had been left discarded by the door of his Winnie, and for a brief, frightening moment, 2D thought that he was going to hit him with it. It must have shown on his face, because the next thing Murdoc said was, “Don‘t piss yourself, Stu. You haven’t whittled me down to that level just yet.”

2D‘s ears flushed, embarrassed. “Then… uh, what are you doing with it?”

Murdoc walked over to his Pontiac and opened the bonnet. “This.” He said, as he swung his arm back and walloped the underside of the dent with an almighty bang. 2D jolted, and lost half a mug of tea on the floor. “I’ll be having the full one then.” Murdoc said, noticing the dark splashes that had hit the concrete ground. 

2D pouted, and rested the two mugs, and the full bucket on the floor beside the car. He donned a pair of yellow marigolds - an extra useful bit of kit he had found lying about in the kitchen - before grabbing the sponge and soaping up. He looked up to see Murdoc rolling his eyes and said, “’Ey, I ain’t touching that stuff with my bare hands. That’s rank.” He slopped the sponge on the roof of the car, and started scrubbing. “I bought an extra pair in case I dirtied these ones up too much, but you can wear them if you, um, wanted to help. You know, if you‘re already here.”

“No.” Murdoc replied immediately, putting an end to that notion. “Don‘t start getting any bright ideas. It doesn’t suit you. I’m going to get this back into position, and then that’s it, I’m done.”

Neither of them said much else to each other for a while afterwards. Murdoc had manoeuvred himself so that he was now leaning on his side underneath the bonnet so that he was in a better position to work on the relatively deep depression on his car, hammering intermittently with varying degrees of force, whilst 2D hummed some tunes to himself as he washed, trying to stay out of his band mate‘s way. 

They toiled in silence, which was fine by Murdoc, until he started catching 2D trying to subtly twist his head to peer at him, and he had that conflicted look on his face which suggested that he was desperate to say something, but unsure if he should - it was an expression that Murdoc had seen countless times from 2D, and it bugged him greatly. 

“What is it?” Murdoc growled, as he witnessed him doing it again. “There’s clearly a burning issue you need to shout about, so out with it.”

“I, uh…” 2D fumbled, pinching at the sponge and avoiding Murdoc‘s glare. “Well, like I said earlier… I was talking to Russel and…”

Ah, Murdoc thought, tuning out 2D’s voice as the realisation dawned on him. He had spoken to Russel. Of course he knew what this was about. “So, he told you.”

2D halted mid-sentence with Murdoc’s interruption, and then looked marginally relieved that he didn’t have to say what he was wanting to bring up out loud himself. “Yeah, he said you did some sort of bet and said that you were a pillock, basically.”

“So what else is new.” Murdoc shrugged. “So you were trying to get a glimpse of the goods, is that what all that shift-eye was about?”

“No! I mean, yes. I just wanted to check ‘em out, like. Not like that, though.”

“You want to touch them, is that it?” 

“Like heck do I!” 2D squeaked, his face scrunching up in revulsion. “That’s gross.”

“Good, because you shouldn’t touch what you can’t afford.”

“God, stop being a dick. I was just trying to see if they were real to be honest ’cos I thought Russel was having me on. But now I think, nah, Muds would definitely do something as attention-seeking as get a boob job. Because he can.”

“Mate, for £20k and a shag with one of the fittest bird’s you’ve ever seen, I think you’d do the same.”

“Don’t think I would actually. I’m not mental. I mean, I don’t need to do anything like _that_ to get girls to sleep with me.”

“Yeah? Well why don’t you go and fuc-” Murdoc didn’t have time to finish his sentence, because an unexpected, soft voice spoke alarmingly close to his ear, knocking him off guard. 

“You‘re back then?”

Murdoc jumped out of his skin, smacking his head against the underside of the car bonnet. He spun around, scowling, to find his diminutive guitarist had silently sneaked up on him from behind the Winnebago without being noticed. She was wearing a devilish grin, much to Murdoc‘s irritation. “For fucks sake, Noodle! Do you _have_ to creep about like that?” A sharp, but fleeting, twinge of pain shot across his chest and he grimaced. “You’re going to send me to an early grave if you keep pulling this shit, the ole ticker‘s already in a bad state.” He brought his fingers to his head, nursing the area that struck metal; a slight bump was beginning to form.

“She’s a creeper.” 2D muttered under his breath, in a tone which suggested that he had also been a recipient of Noodle’s similar tricks one too many times before. Noodle flashed him a smile, clearly in a mischievous mood, before turning back to Murdoc. Unfazed by the thick streaks of blood still present on the car, she moved to stand next to him by the hood of the vehicle, scanning the car‘s components. “Early grave, uh? You’re probably a bit too old for that now.” Just within earshot, Cortez squawked in the distance; it sounded almost like a cackle. “And maybe you’d have a stronger heart if you didn’t insist on excessively putting poisons in your body.”

Murdoc‘s frown deepened, and he said, “You know, I think I preferred you when you couldn’t speak English.” 

He inspected the dent - it was in better shape than it was before he started, at least. He knew there were better, more effective, ways of fixing it, but there was considerably less faff his way, he thought. He dropped the mallet to the floor and pushed the bonnet down, closing it. “I thought you were a pain in the arse then, but at least you didn’t give me as much backchat as you do now.”

But Noodle had stopped listening to him by that point. Instead her focus centred on the swellings on Murdoc’s chest. It was hard for her not to notice them once they had entered her line of vision, and at side profile, they stood out like mole hills on a flat plain. Catching onto her gaze from under her fringe, Murdoc had a brainwave and smirked, shifting his calloused palm downwards from his head to rest atop the form of his new right breast protruding from his grey shirt. Noodle opened her mouth to speak, but Murdoc cut in before her, seizing the golden opportunity to wind her up.

“You’re wondering where these came from,” He jiggled the breast. “Mix up at the hospital. I only went in for a bit of nip-and-tuck, but somebody must have swapped my notes for some bird‘s ‘cos I ended up leaving with these!” Murdoc went out of his way to really ham up the yarn he was spinning. “I might just keep them, you know, I’ve grown quite attached to them. Just think, Nood, I could put a wig and dress on for all our gigs and they‘d think Cher was on stage, on bass.”

Noodle stared at him. Then, suddenly, she smiled broadly, and broke out into a giggle. “Very funny. They actually look very believable.” Noodle brushed her hair from her face and spared one last glance at Murdoc, and his boobs. “A strange joke, for a strange man, I suppose.” 

She moved to turn on her heel and leave, but her foot nudged against the rubber mallet that Murdoc had earlier dropped and she soon realised why she had ventured down to the car park in the first place. She picked it up and asked if she could borrow it for a project that she had in mind, along with some other tools that littered the floor, and without waiting for a definitive answer, she collected them in her arms and said her goodbyes, before skipping out of the car park.

“You? Cher on bass?” 2D sniggered, grabbing his bucket of water and soaping his sponge again. “I think Cher would be offended by that comment.”

“Shut up.” Murdoc snapped. “Just get on with it, will you.” He nodded his head towards the car.

2D made quick work of the bonnet now that it was firmly back in place, and with no further interruption from Murdoc or Noodle, he was finished in no time. He threw the now-black sponge back into the coppery, dirty water of the bucket. 

“You know, I was thinking just then.” 2D said, painstakingly peeling back his stained gloves without trying to get a speck of zombie blood on his bare skin, “If it were me and I had to do what you’d done, and there was no other way around it, like, if I had a gun to my head or whatever. I think I’d go for a size DD, ‘cos it’s basically my name. Get it? 2 D‘s.”

Murdoc stood impassively. It was a couple of minutes before he responded with, “You mean, if ‘tit’ was you.” 

2D grinned inanely, his tongue poking out from the gap where his two front teeth should have been. “Yeah… yeah!” he said, excitably. “Oh, hey, check this. They’d look the ‘breast‘!” 

“That’s actually quite quick for you, ’D. Considering.”

They settled into a calm silence. Murdoc was feeling in a surprisingly decent mood now; a far call from the dreadful state he was in earlier that morning. The mug of tea had gone down a treat, he thought. He watched as 2D finally freed himself from his grubby marigolds and chucked them in the bucket with the ruined sponge. 

Murdoc gave the car a quick once over to make sure no obvious smears of zombie remains still besmirched the bodywork, and asked 2D if he had finished. He had.

“Great. Now get out of my sight.” He replied, satisfied, and strolled back to the confines of his Winnebago. “And take your mess with you!” He called out, as he jerked the door shut.

 

*****

 

Russel had only thought about the outcome of Murdoc’s outrageous, illicit drug-fuelled bet a good few months down the line when the whole incident had blown over. With the mad schedule of the Demon Days campaign still at the forefront of their minds, none of the other Gorillaz had mentioned anything about it since, so he never thought to ask. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the bassist rolling around in some brand spanking new motor, and he certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of a windfall of money; both of which Murdoc would always happily flaunt. Curiosity eventually got the better of him.

“Did you ever get your end of the bargain from that bet then, Muds? With your buddy?”

“Oh, right. That.” Murdoc grumbled. “Did I never say?”

Russel shook his head, and allowed him to continue. He closed his copy of ‘Stuff It!‘ - the hottest, newest taxidermy magazine on the market for making the most of your road kill, which Russel had recently subscribed to - and rested it on the table. He made sure he was sitting comfortably for what he was sure was going to be another tale of misadventure. 

“So I made sure I took loads of photographic proof, from various different angles, for matey so he knew I wasn’t mucking about, but when I shown him he went white as a sheet, kept saying I’d doctored the pictures. That was until I lifted my shirt and stuck the scars in his face to shut him up. Turns out he’s one of them types that flagrantly throws cash at everything to keep up appearances of being rich, when really he‘s riddled with debt and poor as a pauper. Bastard didn’t have a single penny to his name! Seriously, I think the only ‘Rolls’ he’s ever owned are the ones on his chin.” Murdoc ranted. He paused to collect his thoughts, stewing over the memory. 

“So… I ended up losing a lot of money on this stupid bet. But the scars are starting to heal up nicely, and it wasn’t all bad news, in the end.” Murdoc’s freakishly long tongue slipped out between his teeth, his expression downright filthy,“I did arrange to meet up with his very lovely missus to help recoup some of the losses he owed me, and she saw to it that I was _fully_ compensated.” He laughed just as dirtily.

Russel shook his head, again, but slower and he lowered his eyes. “Unreal.”

“I know, right? He was unreal, a total tosser. What did he think would happen, making bets with… well, someone like me in the first place? Especially when I‘m off my face. I‘ll do anything when I‘m in that state.”

Russel was actually talking about Murdoc‘s vulgarity rather than anything else, but he let it slide nonetheless. “So this whole escapade was essentially pointless then? You gained nothing, made a huge loss from it even, mutilated yourself… because you relied on some arrogant jackass’ word?” He rolled his eyes. “Man, don’t you ever learn anything from all these crazies we seem to get mixed up with?”

Murdoc scoffed, “Mate, the crazies are the ones that keep things interesting. How else do I get my kicks these days?”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this little, ridiculous tale is actually based off Gorillaz canon! I took the idea from a comment Murdoc made in Rise of the Ogre about how he got a boob job for a laugh, and I just kind of... ran with it. 
> 
> Gorillaz copyright to Damon Albarn & Jamie Hewlett for making these wonderful characters.


End file.
